


The Light in Ordinary Things

by jyuanka



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, period mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jyuanka/pseuds/jyuanka
Summary: "Now that he thought about it -and he always thought about it- Cheadle didn’t smile all that much. An annoying proclivity for neutral expressions and an aloof disposition made it hard for him to get along with her at first. He had thought her cold, uncaring and excessively prissy, and while she wasn’t the opposite of any of these things, she wasn’t just them, either."Leorio comes back to Swaldini after six months of saying goodbye to Cheadle at her apartment. Cheadle has awful period cramps, but she manages; Leorio is there to make it better.





	The Light in Ordinary Things

Based on what happened after [this](http://jyuanka.tumblr.com/post/162010291922/when-cheadle-begins-falling-for-leorio-she-just) headcanon.

* * *

 

Cheadle peeked her head inside the mostly empty meeting room. “I need to go now, Mizaistom.”

A pair of black eyes shifted from the computer screen to her. “This soon?”

“Yes, he’ll arrive at ten.” she said, giving her coworker a sincere apologetic smile. “You can take care of things for me here, Mizai?”

Mizaistom smiled. “Don’t worry.”

“Alright then,” Cheadle nodded, that persistent feeling of guilt whirling at the edge of her consciousness. “I… I also will be late, tomorrow.”

“Cheadle, it’s alright.” Mizaistom said. “Everything is under control.”

“If anything happens just call me.”

“Of course.”

Cheadle squared her shoulders, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere surrounding this conversation. She was about to say something else, but Mizaistom was quicker.

“Just say hi to Leorio for me, it’s been a while since we last saw him.”

Cheadle averted her gaze and struggled to conceal her smile over hearing that name.

“I will.”

III

Cheadle tilted the rearview mirror and looked at herself. At her human face. There were faint dark circles under her eyes, and no matter how much she washed her face that morning the signs of exhaustion didn’t go away. Her hands fumbled around for her cell phone, but she stopped herself. There was no point in calling Mizaistom; not an hour has passed since she left the Association building.

The period cramps were getting worse, and even on a beautiful, mild April morning like this, she could feel the sweat collecting on her back. She was waiting for him, too, and that didn’t lessen the nervousness or ease the general discomfort she felt with and within her body. In fact, it only made it worse. Her stomach was tying knots around itself, and her heart was pulsing with such intensity it reminded her of the thrill of past missions. Of sickness, too, but that wasn’t something she wanted to ponder, not when she’s waiting for him to step out of the gates and walk to her car.

Her patience was thinning, and her eyes kept darting from the airport’s glass facade to her own face in the mirror. She looked pallid, ill, and her dissatisfaction with her appearance was increasing her aggravation with everything at that moment.

“Hey!”

Her heart leapt, and her eyes shot to the window at her right.

Leorio opened the door and slid in the passenger seat beside her, throwing his suitcase on the backseat. “Good morning.”

Cheadle stared at him, all that was happening within her -the flipping of her stomach, the mad beating of her heart, the sweat on her back- was poking her wickedly with the knowledge that what she felt for him six months ago did not recede an inch, and that the long distance and physical absence did not dampen her love. It made her feel lightheaded and sewed her lips shut, and all she managed to blurt out was his name.

Leorio chuckled, a warm rosiness dusting his cheeks, and before she could process it, he was already gathering her in his arms. Her own arms hung limply at her sides, and she was incredibly aware of the painful angel of this hug, but her head was resting on his shoulder, his hands grapping the fabric of her blouse, and she was _smelling_ him, all around her.

A content sigh escaped her mouth, and she lifted her arms to return his embrace, brushing her cheek against his neck. “Welcome home, Leorio.”

Their hug lasted a while before any of them had the desire to let go and look the other in the face. Now that he was actually here with her, Cheadle calmed down. It was just Leorio, but the problem was that, it _wasn’t_ just Leorio anymore; he was no longer a student pressing her with enquires or an exceptionally casual colleague strolling airily into her office to vent with her. No, now they were something else, but she didn’t know what, exactly, nevertheless she found herself caring little for how they chose to title or present this new thing they had going on between them.

Was it general placidness or acquired affability, Cheadle didn’t know, but what she did know was that if this had happened a decade ago, she would have carried it in an entirely different manner.

When they finally untangled from each other, she got to have a good look at his face. “You have a beard.” she said. “And your hair is longer.”

Leorio scratched the bridge of his nose. “Well, you like it?”

Cheadle squinted at him in mock puzzlement, but she was honest. “The beard yes, the hair no.”

“I’ll cut my hair, then.” 

 “You don’t have to if you like it.”

Leorio shrugged. “I don’t like it all that much, to be honest. It’s messy and my hair is not suited for length, I just went along with it cause I didn’t even have enough time to scratch my head.”

Cheadle surveyed his face, and there were many things she wanted to say, good things, but she resorted to deflecting the bubbling affection in her heart with humor. “Well, I’m glad you finally look your age.”

Leorio burst out in laughter and placed a hand over his heart, making a dramatic gesture with his head and drooping his eyes at her. “You hurt me, my love.”     

She pressed her lips and felt a rush of heat to her face. “Don’t say words like these.”

“Darling?”

“Stop it.”

“Babe?”

Cheadle groaned, the redness in her cheeks climbing to her ears. “Just--don’t, please.” 

Leorio snickered and threw up his hands in desperation. “Fine! Just drive us wherever, Ms. President.”

“That’s better.”    

III

Leorio stood in the tiny, dimly lit hallway and watched Cheadle as she opened the door to her apartment and stood to the side, his suitcase in her hand. She looked up at him and smiled. “Please go in.”

“It’s your apartment, you go first.”

“It’s your apartment, too, now, Leorio.” Cheadle said, and retreated farther against the wall, still stopping the door from slamming shut with her hand.  

Leorio didn’t know what to say to that, and felt it hard to keep looking at her solid expression of resolve. She said it like it was the most concrete thing in the world, like it’s a thing he should’ve known already. She’s always been there, giving him things; knowledge, skills, experience, opportunities--a home.

He looked ahead, inside the apartment, still as he remembered it, still as he left it six months ago. Beyond the little, short corridor he could see the living room, white and blue and soaked in morning light. He knew every corner and room in this place, and since Leorio decided to leave the work in the Association to travel and work in different locations, he didn’t bother to buy a house or an apartment in Swaldini, so Cheadle’s apartment became his refuge during visits. He had spent the occasional night at Kurapika’s, when he was invited, but here was different. That couch under the window in the living room was _his_ couch, the one he slept on when studying became too much, and for a minute that was enough to make him take a step forward and enter the apartment.

He came back to his senses when he heard the sound of the door closing behind him, and turned around to see Cheadle leaning against it, hands behind her back, staring at her feet. Leorio took two steps to reach her, and hooked his fingers under hers, taking her hand in his, and that link filled the short distance between them.

Cheadle looked up at him, and he gently tugged her closer, still holding her hand. “We spent the whole ride here not talking, so, how are you?”

She put his suitcase down and a small smile spread on her face. “I’m fine, a little tired.”

“Your period?”

She widened her eyes. “How did you know?”

Leorio shrugged. “You look that particular kind of tired, besides, I calculated it. Last time you had it was March 14, right?”

“You remember?”

“Yeah,” Leorio snorted. “But it’s not like you didn’t _talk_ about it for three days straight over the phone or anything.”

Cheadle furrowed her brow. “Hilarious. I’d like to see _you_ experience it, not that your whining isn’t legendary as it is.”

Leorio hummed deep in his throat, not finding any logical reason to disagree, and pulled her even closer, lifting his free hand to her head and splaying his fingers in her lush hair. “If I can take all your pain away right now, I’ll take it. I’m actually developing a way to do just that!”

Cheadle looked appropriately roused, and that recognizable twinkle of curiosity and inquisitiveness passed through her beautiful green eyes. Still as nosy and snoopy as ever, it seemed. There was a challenging smirk on her face, too, as if she was egging him to prove his claim to her, to reveal his findings, to pass that knowledge in that direct and concise way she instilled in him years ago.

“You know, we still have an entire month to discuss all that medical stuff.” he told her, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Today we can just talk about your period.”

Cheadle nodded, disgruntled. “Let’s go inside then. I want to lie down and you need to wash and change your clothes.”

“Alright, yeah, it’s kinda hot in here anyway.”

She let go of his hand, her fingers lingering over his for few seconds before she passed him in the small corridor, brushing against his shoulder. “I heated the water, so you can take a shower if you want.” she took off her shoes and placed them neatly against the wall. “The clothes you left here last time are all clean, and please, put all your dirty clothes in the laundry basket—you know where it is.”

Leorio nodded, following her inside and taking off his shoes, placing them beside hers. As Cheadle walked to her bedroom, leaving the door slightly open, he stared at the two pair of shoes, a great disparity in size, and felt like taking extra meaning in this was necessary.

A bit ridiculous, he knew, but it seemed for him now that anything he’ll do from now on in this apartment held more meaning than it did previously. This was a shared space now, even if Cheadle will occupy it by herself for long periods of time, with him away, and taking a shower in her bathroom or lying on her couch seemed like slightly different activities now. They somehow held more weight, but of the good sort. The sort that made you know you belonged, the kind that filled you with comfort, the comfort of knowing that you always had a place to return to, to sleep in, a place to share with someone.

“You have big feet.”

Abruptly, he shifted his eyes from the pair of shoes to Cheadle standing beside him. “What?”

Cheadle’s eyes moved between the shoes and him. “Why are you staring at our shoes, Leorio?”

He shrugged in defense. “Nothing, I just spaced out.”

She eyed him suspiciously before handing him the clothes she held between her hands. “These are your pajamas and t-shirt.” 

Leorio took them from her and headed to the bathroom, filled with an odd, lovely sensation in his heart, smelling the old clothes he left behind, and knowing that no doubt they were in her closet, with the rest of her clothes, clean, folded neatly, waiting for him to come back and wear them. They smelled like her, a scent he couldn’t describe, like hot water and flowers, and other things he didn’t know but which were achingly familiar, like he’d always known them, just never cared to savior.

He set the clean clothes she gave him aside, and looked at himself in the mirror.

He really did need to cut his hair.

III

Leorio knocked on the door of her bedroom.

“Come in.”   

He entered, and left the door open. Cheadle was lying on the bed in her striped pajamas, facing the side of the door, looking like a figure out of a painting, with the light from the large window pouring down at her form, filtered through the gauzy pink of her drapes, throwing patches of shade all over the room.

Leorio didn’t know how to approach, it seemed simple but it wasn’t; something felt holy about this picture, felt whole, too complete by itself that his presence was tertiary, imposing, even. A familiar feeling of guilt pinched his heart, guilt from knowing that, in the grand scheme of things, he’s given her so little in return, and that whatever he has to give will always be insignificant to all the good things she’d done to him since the day she called him, offering him a position with the Zodiacs.

“Are you going to come, Leorio?”

Her hushed, inviting voice dragged him out of his thoughts, and he focused his eyes back on her. Her head was resting on the pillow, her legs bent close to her chest, and her arm splayed on the empty space at her left. She looked even more sick and tired now that he could take a good look at her in the glowing room, and his body was moving before his head had decided whether to get closer or not. He kneeled on the bed beside her and placed a hand on her cheek, neck, and chest. “You’re feverish.”

Cheadle offered him a weak smile. “It’s alright, I do feel hot but it’s not out of the ordinary. I can handle the heat but the cramps are worsening by the minute.”

“Come here,” he said, his tone serious. He hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her slightly off the bed, retreated his body towards the bedframe and pulled her back against his chest; when they finally settled, Leorio kissed her temple. “I’m sorry you feel this way.”

Cheadle replied with a weak shake of her head, and seemed to find comfort in their position, scooting her body closer to him, cocooning herself in his embrace and resting her head on his shoulder.

Leorio slid a tentative hand to her stomach. “Would you let me? I’ll make the pain go away.”

“I already used my nen, it’s not helping, Leorio.” she said, exasperated. “Or is this that new technique you spoke of?”

Leorio grinned, noting how her voice perked up at the possibility of revealing what he’d developed, and while he was willing to do anything to make her feel better, he still didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing too soon. She always had this way of extracting information from him, however, she had no one to blame but herself, since she more than anyone else had taught him how to keep his discoveries a secret.

“Nah, I’ll just use my nen the way I do to dispel a headache.”

Cheadle groaned. “ _I_ taught you this.”

Leorio rolled his eyes. “And _I_ made it better. Just let me try, okay?”

“It better work.”

“I wasn’t your student for nothing, you know? Your lack of faith disappoints me.”

This underhanded compliment seemed to satisfy her, for now, and Leorio took her soft inhale as a sign to go ahead. He pulled her shirt up a little, his hand hovered over her stomach, and he was already channeling his nen, pooling it right under his skin, in his palm, and he slowly brought it down to her stomach, then let it rest for a while over her abdomen.

“Feeling better?”

She hummed, but said nothing more.

Leorio’s hand began slithering down, past the hem of her pajamas, and this new development made her fidget between his arms. “Where is your hand going?”

“Not where I’m pretty sure you want it to be.”

“Oh you flatter yourself.” Cheadle said, sounding amused and maybe a little embarrassed. “I wasn’t missing any hands when you weren’t here.”

Leorio snickered and pulled her a little roughly against his back, pressing his hand against her abdomen and curling his pinky in her pubes. “Is that so? I’d like to hear about it.”

Cheadle’s body spasmed with the thread of nen he sent inside her, and her hand quickly grabbed his forearm. “I don’t remember teaching you this.” she let out a heavy breath. “I hope this isn’t something you do with your patients, surely not the kind of legacy a teacher would wish to leave behind through one of their students.”

“Oh you flatter yourself.” Leorio said, imitating her tone of voice. When Cheadle chuckled, he eased the hand under the hem of her pajamas. “It’s not going there, I promise, unless that’s what you want?” he simpered in her ear.

She groaned. “Just do your job. Professionally.”

“Prude.”

“Whore.”

Leorio kissed the top of her head, and kept his face buried in her hair while his hand slid down her pelvis and rested just above the patch of orange curls. “It hurts most here, right?”

“Yes.”

He did no more than keep his hand where it was, letting his nen seep out like water drops, from his body to hers, and listen to her breathing as it evened and softened. Leorio kept his hand there until he eventually felt her leaning heavily against him, snoozing.

He removed his hand and slid her shirt back down. Two extra, bodiless hands sprouted from the end of the bed and pulled a blanket that was folded there over Cheadle’s sleeping form.

Leorio continued to stroke her hair, noting the faded red roots sneaking, inconspicuous, between green locks, and wondered if she’d ever let them grow. He knew that the moment she noticed them her special secret hair dye would already be in hand. She was diligent and stubborn about it, as she was about everything else. The only redheaded Cheadle he ever saw in his life was in a rare old picture of her. A short teenager with fiery hair under sepiant sunlight, eyes sharp as ever, behind different glasses. Wearing shorts and boots, she looked like a scout girl out of a children’s book, holding a collection of oddly-shaped mushrooms in her hands.

In the picture, she wore a lukewarm smile and looked awkward, standing with one leg obscuring the other, as if trying to hide all the exposed skin of her knees and calves, to shrink away from the lens, but she had told him that she was pretty proud of those mushrooms she’d collected, but didn’t know how to smile for the camera.

Now that he thought about it -and he always thought about it- Cheadle didn’t smile all that much. An annoying proclivity for neutral expressions and an aloof disposition made it hard for him to get along with her at first. He had thought her cold, uncaring and excessively prissy, and while she wasn’t the opposite of any of these things, she wasn’t _just_ them, either.

Being himself one with many a failed defense mechanism, he could see them in others, too; the ones that crumbled, the ones that stood still, the ones willingly lowered down, and ones entirely abandoned.

When they began interacting on a closer basis, he a student, she a teacher, it seemed there was a shared ground, a shared conception of self. Of course, back then he didn’t take it into consideration, didn’t give it much heed, and didn’t bother to pick up threads and make a whole picture, there was simply no reasons to harp on all the little things he had in common with her, and it’s not like you never have things in common with other people. For him, they were a nice addition, reasons to work hard, because the ideal she represented meant it was within his reach. It wasn’t long before he had decided that she was both the best and worst teacher in the world. He liked her, anyway, and then he liked her some more, when she wasn’t hiding behind ten different masks. The realization that she was only like this with _him_ hit Leorio so suddenly one day that he was uncertain if his memories were correctly aligned or if he was just making things up because he thought her special and wished to know if she found him special too, in any capacity.

And she did, and made him see it in all the little ways. Leorio quickly learned that he wasn’t going to get more from her, not in public spaces, anyway, or in front of people, and oddly enough, he found that he preferred this over grand gestures. He enjoyed the underhanded affection, the way she glanced at him from across the room and then averted her eyes when he glanced back, but did it in such a deliberate way as to let him know that she _was_ looking. The way she checked on him, responded to his texts, brushed against him in the Association’s hallways and then pretended that it never happened.

A month with her wasn’t enough. It was the last comprehensive thought he had before he began to doze off, and he fell asleep with the sound of her breathing, and the sound of the morning breeze swishing the drapes over their heads.

III

Cheadle reveled in that piquant sensation, of feeling so light and feathery the second you wake up from a long and satisfying nap, and then having to contend with her weight returning to her limps, along with the heaviness she felt throughout her body.

Eyes still closed, she took several long, even breaths to dispel the haze in her head, and shifted her body around, still feeling laggard and lazy, and she had no desire to push herself off the broad chest she was resting against, even when she could already feel the ache in her neck and joints caused by remaining in the same position for what seemed like days.         

Everything around her was blurry, a pinkish yellow glow permeating her vision, and the arm draped over her stomach felt too heavy and unbearably warm. Cheadle used her feet to push the blanket off her body, straightened up a little to turn around in order to reach the nightstand in search for her glasses and phone.

She put her glasses on and in a moment of bliss, the world around her returned to focus. Opening her phone, not only did she find that it was 2:17 pm, she also found no missed calls, no text messages, nothing. It was odd, and disconcerting, and not a thing that happens on any day. Her thumb was already hovering over Mizaistom’s displayed number on her screen, but a twitch of the long leg beside her stopped Cheadle from making the phone call.

She turned around to see Leorio sleeping in what must be the most uncomfortable position ever, his back still resting against the bedframe, his head tilted painfully to the side now that her own head wasn’t being used as a pillow. She contemplated waking him up, but decided against it. Instead, she placed her hand behind his neck, hooked her arm behind his back and gently, slowly lowered him down to the mattress.

Cheadle remained hunched over him, unfurling her fingers in his hair, savoring the warmth his body was exuding, especially his hand, the one he used to assuage her pain. She could feel the remnants of the same nen seeping out of him inside her, and she was aware that every bit of pain had left her body, but she wanted to snort, too, because ten years later he still haven’t learned how to properly contain his nen. No wonder he slept a lot.

She bent down and placed a tender kiss on the corner of his lips, and snuggled herself over his chest, laying her head on her crossed arms to admire his sleeping face. Cheadle wasn’t lying when she said he finally looked his age. Thirty-one and unacceptably handsome; his cheeks were a bit hallowed, but not in a way that implied illness or malnourishment. There were pretty creases under his tired eyes, too, and there was a soulful, scruffy, almost worn out appearance to his face, but his skin was still that healthy, beautiful brown she always liked, and she could tell, now resting on his chest like this, that he’d lost weight during these last six months.  

Cheadle buried her face in the crook of her elbow, and had to face the embarrassment of realizing that she had always found him handsome, even when he was just a lanky young man pacing her office and demanding she teach him everything she knew like some entitled child. He wasn’t always patient, rarely cooperative, and tended to revert to a nasty attitude if you pushed him too much, but she liked his spirit. His core was solid and untainted, one only needed to extract the thin shards, pull out the thorns and dig to see it.

It’s not rare for Hunters to befriend their mentors once they grow and come into their own, and Cheadle thought that, and above all other relationships, she valued his friendship the most, and a part of her believed that she would still be content if they remained friends and nothing more, but a voice in her head, deeper and possessive and always, always suspicious of all goodness, mocked that idea. Once she fell in love and knew there was no way to have him, she would have pushed him to the ends of earth to keep him away, friendship be damned.     

She dispelled these thoughts out of her mind. He was here now, impossibly close to her, closer than he’d ever been before, and it’s been such a long time since she felt this happy, this content, in such an aseptic, unadulterated way.

Except for her period. Just because there was no pain didn’t mean there was no blood, and that sensation of it pooling between her legs creeped up again, as well as the realization that she needed a change of underwear right away.

Cautiously, Cheadle slid her body off Leorio’s chest, and made her way towards the closet, picked up clean change, and headed to the bathroom.

III

The dough had been left outside for hours since early morning to thaw, and by the time Cheadle picked it up off the tray on her table, it was sagging in her hands. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed, she thought.

Cheadle can spend months searching for ingredients in harsh terrains, can concoct the most elaborate antidotes, but when it came to the mundane matters of home cooking, she possessed little talent. There was one thing she was good at making though, and only because it was a stable of her summer diet as a child, and that was blackberry pie. Her aunt had taught her how to make it, and every summer they collected the ingredients and created the pie from scratch. Making it was always a source of comfort, but halfway through unwrapping the dough Cheadle realized that she had no desire to make it at all.

In fact, she lacked the enthusiasm to do anything. Her mood was much better now, but without the stress of coworkers in the Association she possessed little incentive to do things she didn’t want to do. Cheadle preferred to keep her hands occupied at all times, she was incapable of idling, and all she really wanted at that moment was for Leorio to wake up.

She wrapped the dough, returned it to the fridge, and made her way back to the bedroom. Peeking her head inside, she found he was still asleep, curled on himself and hugging the pillow. She contemplated whether to wake him up or not, but the idea of just going back to sleep by his side was more tempting.

Cheadle tiptoed inside, but the moment her knees touched the bed his eyes were open. Leorio sucked in a breath and tipped his head back to look at her through half-lidded eyes. He blinked several times before a sleepy smile creeped into his face, and he chucked the pillow aside and stretched his arm towards her, inviting her closer.

She shouldn’t have reacted to this gesture as quickly as she did, but her body was already seeking his before her brain could utter a coherent protest. She took off her glasses and placed them on the pillow over their heads, then rested her head on his arm, and felt his other one fold around her head, bringing her closer so their noses brushed.

“Hi,” Leorio said.

“Hey,”

Her hands were lying awkwardly between their bodies, their uselessness calling for her to do something with them, anything, instead of just remain there, seemingly unresponsive to any of the things she wished to do with them. Cheadle hated how it was easier for her to love him when he wasn’t awake or present to see it.

Like she was touching a poisonous, understudied species of plants, her fingers crawled to the fabric of his shirt, her heart crawled to her throat when she felt his chest heaving with a labored sigh under her hand.

Cheadle realized that she was staring at her hand, and that Leorio was staring at her, and how brittle the air had become around them, like there was something too fragile but too beautiful to break, and it’s been more than a year she should have become better at this, but she wasn’t. Instead, her head felt heavy, her throat dry, her tongue twisted and her entire weight unbearable. Too vulnerable for comfort.

“Everything’s alright?” he whispered over her head.

It took her a while before she could shift her eyes back to his face. “Yes.” she smiled and slid a timid hand up to his neck.  

The arm he bundled her with slipped from around her enough so his hand could touch her face, and when his fingers grazed her cheek, Cheadle closed her eyes and sighed.

She didn’t open her eyes, and chose to remain immersed in the pure giddiness she felt from having his fingers touch her face. To her surprise, he didn’t retaliate with any additional questions, just continued to skim his fingers over her cheek, her nose and brow and chin, and the more it continued the more she was unable to deny how starved for touch she was, how little experience she had with giving affection and receiving it, how much time and effort she dedicated of her life to avoiding any contact that promised these things, that would have demanded she reciprocate them.

There was overwhelming misery and heartache in finally acknowledging how she wasted the better part of her life afraid of creating or initiating or sustaining any long lasting relationships. Since she was a scared teenager fresh from the Hunter exam, back to her country with a shiny and pristine Hunter license in hand, standing in the Yorkshire Manor, under the scathing, mournful gaze of her disappointed parents, Cheadle had banished herself to an emotionally desolate wasteland, and worked so tirelessly to smother the parts of herself that loved too much, cared too much, longed and felt heartbreak so deep in her bones. She recycled all these seemingly unneeded extensions of herself into cold love and eternal loyalty to the organization that embraced her when she was nothing but a small girl, disowned and afraid and unsure what to make of her life.

Was it time to grieve? Was it necessary to grieve? She didn’t know, her eyes were already filling with tears behind closed eyelids. What did someone like Leorio want with someone like her? Being at his side like this was overwhelming, _he_ was overwhelming, with how impetuous his affection was, how uninhibited he was, genuine and warm and loving without rehearsals or conceit. Cheadle knew that she’ll never understand how he came to be like this, because she’s never known anyone like this, and couldn’t begin to comprehend how anyone _could_ be like this.

She could say he’s an idiot who exposed himself and call it a day, but then she would be denying the truth she knew very well, and thought about quite often, and that all that unbridled, overflowing self he possessed was perhaps what drew her to him in the first place. That and the fact that he was so willing to share it, even with someone like her.

With him, she was just Cheadle, and this more than anything disturbed her internal, natural order. Her entire life, she never wanted to be _just_ Cheadle. Her main incentive to become a Hunter was precisely because she didn’t _want_ to be just Cheadle. She needed to be more. Cheadle was small, ordinary, weak, insignificant, and she’d always wanted more; wanted power and control and authority and independence, wanted knowledge and skill and respect. Now, she had them all, but not a chairman, not a Zodiac -- the thing she wanted most at this moment, with him –and only him- was to be just Cheadle.

For the first time in her life, it felt good to be just Cheadle.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re crying or do I keep wiping your tears in silence?” Leorio’s voice came to her, soft and concerned. “You’re scaring me.”

A breathless chuckle escaped her and she sniffed, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, I’m fine now.”

Leorio leaned forward, placed kisses under her eyes and cheeks, and on the bridge of her nose, and even when he slid an inch away his fingers were wiping the remnants of her tears and his fingers were back in her hair. “Are you sure? I think this is the first time I ever saw you cry.” and he suddenly had a relapse. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Cheadle sniffed and stifled an urge to laugh. “Yes, you did -- existing.”

Leorio chuckled, but it was weak and uncertain. “Would me not existing make you happy?”

“Absolutely not.” she was hit by an abrupt wave of courage, so she pushed herself off the bed and threw a leg over him, straddling his waist, enjoying the leverage it gave her over him, enjoying how he looked from up there, surprised with a wave of redness already seeping into his face. “I will destroy all danger in your path to keep you safe and alive, Leorio.” 

He seemed to struggle to pull air into his lungs, and he stared at her for a while before he smiled and reached his hands to graze his fingers under her shirt. “Or you know, you could just kiss me.”

“I can do that, too.”

“Come here then,”

His gentle hand on her back guided her down, and she took his lower lip between hers, letting her hands wander under his shirt, sliding from his waist to his chest and back down, feeling his fingers skid down her spine, then sink into her skin when she deepened the kiss, delighting in his muffled sighs, and feeling that heat grow within her, between them, just where their bodies connected.     

Leorio broke the kiss, breathless and aroused. “I missed you so much.”

Her lips descended his skin, and she nuzzled her face in his neck. “I missed you even more.”          

He snickered. “I thought you weren’t missing any hands when I wasn’t here.”

Cheadle’s hand snaked down to brush against his erection while she planted a long, impish kiss under his ear, and he shivered under her. “I missed other things.”

Leorio swallowed. “I don’t remember you being this bold.”       

Hearing this was enough to make her straighten up and look at him before her eyes shifted around in search for her glasses. She wanted to say something important, and she needed her glasses to see him properly; saying important things required her glasses, she couldn’t do without them.

When she finally found them, some of the haze in her mind disappeared. She looked down at him, hair all messy, eyes gleaming, shirt hiked up. “I don’t want to hesitate anymore.” she said, and felt a little bit ridiculous with her making a statement while sitting over him like this, but she forced herself not to care. “I spent my life afraid of this, and I no longer want to be afraid. I don’t want to lose the good I have because I don’t know how to hold it.”

Cheadle smiled at him, and suddenly that melancholy of earlier trickled back into her heart, and she found herself fumbling with her hands, wishing to clasp them close to her, but her desire to keep them on his exposed skin was greater, so they remained there, awkwardly drawing invisible lines on his abdomen. 

Suddenly, Leorio burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but I really hope this isn’t a misunderstanding and you’re really talking about my dick, because if not being able to hold it is what’s giving you grief, then it’s easily solvable. I’m all yours.” and he splayed his arms over his head to further demonstrate his point.

Cheadle’s eye twitched, and a laugh was bubbling in her chest. “Yes, that’s exactly what’s giving me grief, _Leorio_.” and little chuckles were already escaping her, and she skidded her short fingernails along his skin. “Oh how I longed, how my hands ached, the thirst in my skin unbearable, my fingers _itching_ …”   

Leorio laughed again. “Fine alright I get it I’m sorry.” he shrugged, wide-eyed and flustered. “You really take a joke too far.” then he propped himself up, which caused Cheadle to slide down, settle in his lap, and look him at eye level. Her hands had unconsciously found their way to his shoulders, and suddenly she felt like he was the one more in control here.

“I’m serious now,” he said, and he did look serious, but there was still that lovely light of mirth in his eyes. “Why were you crying?”

Cheadle lifted a hand, letting the tip of her index slide down the bridge of his nose, and traced the movement with her eyes. “Because I love you, and I’m afraid that I don’t know how to love at all.” she surveyed his face before meeting his eyes again. “I can never be as you are, I don’t know how to. The affection you give me, I can never give it back, in the same magnitude. I can’t be good to you as you are to me, Leorio.”

“It’s the opposite,” he said, frowning and certain and a little irritated. “It’s always been the opposite. You’re the one who gives me everything, I’m the one who can never give you as much, and I always feel like I’m not good enough to you, as I should be. I can’t even stay at your side.”

“And I never want you to stay.” Cheadle said, grazing her fingers over his lips. “When you give to the world, when you heal, through all that you’ve learned, from me or by yourself, you are giving to me as well. I have pride in you. You carry my legacy, and the legacy of all those who came before us. The world needs you more than I do, and the Association needs me more than you do. We’ve spoken about this before you left last time, haven’t we? We both understand.” she smiled and leaned forward to plant a kiss on the side of his nose. “All the other things, we can have them here, whenever you return, no?” 

Leorio took in a shaky breath, and kissed the palm of her hand, then held her hand to his face and leaned into it.

The afternoon sun was dousing the room in light, illuminating half his face; there was that warm glimmer in his deep-set eyes, the way the light hit his irises so that the murky green in them overtook the brown, and she could read everything he had in his heart; things he’d told her the morning they spent together before he left, things she’d always known, and things he’d never said before.

He didn’t need to tell her anything.

“Now,” she drawled, drawing tiny loops on his neck. “I’m afraid we can’t resume what we were doing. We’ll have to wait for three days.”

Leorio leaned forward and kissed her lips, then her cheek. “If you’re afraid of having your period blood on my dick or fingers, then know that I don’t care, and if it’s the sheets, then I’ll wash them on my hands.”

She’d thought that such a suggestion would send shivers of disgust down her spine, but his words, whispered low, his lips so close to her, only spread waves of heat down her stomach, and the longer she stared at his lips the more she could feel him growing hard under her.

Cheadle wetted her lips, feeling hot in the face. “And then you’ll help me make the pie?” she asked, her hand simpering under his shirt. 

Leorio smirked and pressed her against his erection, one hand slithering down her shirt to caress the underside of her breast. “Only more reason to do this now.”


End file.
